


Classicverse 1.4: Enter the Enchantress

by Elspethdixon, Seanchai



Series: Classicverse [4]
Category: Marvel 616
Genre: AU, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-07-02
Updated: 2008-07-01
Packaged: 2017-10-06 07:00:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/50943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elspethdixon/pseuds/Elspethdixon, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Seanchai/pseuds/Seanchai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Iron Man's missing out on the action, while Steve and Tony can't sleep, and Thor's getting a visit from someone he wishes were a little bit less friendly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Явление Чародейки](https://archiveofourown.org/works/770250) by [ComradeSoapySoot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ComradeSoapySoot/pseuds/ComradeSoapySoot)



> Disclaimer: The characters and situations depicted herein belong to Stan Lee and Marvel comics. No profit is being made off of this fanwritten work. We're paid in love, people.  
> Author's Note: Plot taken from Avengers v1 Issue #7
> 
> Our thanks to tavella for the great beta job; this would be full of hideously embarrassing spelling errors if not for her.

  
The fight against the Masters of Evil had not gone well. Steve was astonished that the Black Knight, Radioactive Man, the Melter, and the erstwhile Human Top, now apparently calling himself Whirlwind, had managed to form a functioning team at all, considering that they'd all been solo acts until now. But form a team they had, and an unfortunately effective one.

The Black Knight and Radioactive man were formidable enough on their own, particularly Radioactive Man, whose superhuman strength actually made him a match for Thor. The fact that he actually _was_ radioactive had complicated matters even more, since it meant that Giant-Man, their other powerhouse, couldn't touch him.

Even worse, Iron Man hadn't shown up, which meant that with Thor busy squaring off against his radioactive nemesis, the Black Knight had the sky to himself, and was free to rain energy bolts down on them all, while the Whirlwind ran circles around them and the Melter pulled a nearby building down on their heads.

Eventually, Hank had swatted the Melter into a pile of rubble and Jan had blinded the Black Knight with her sting, putting his energy lance out of commission. Steve, no longer hindered by trying to dodge energy bolts and falling masonry, had finally succeeded in clocking Whirlwind with his shield, and Thor had eventually pounded Radioactive Man into the ground. But it had taken much longer than it should have, much longer than it would have taken with Iron Man there, and the surrounding stores and office buildings had paid the price for it.

"We really could have used your help out there, Iron Man," Steve said. "Where were you?" He studied Iron Man's red and gold faceplate as he spoke, but as usual, it gave nothing away. He had wondered before why the man never took the armor off, if he even could; had something gone wrong with it? Was that why he had been so late? If it doubled as some kind of life support system, as Steve half suspected...

"The Melter is one of yours," Hank put in. "You've gone up against him before; we could have used that experience."

Jan, perched on Hank's shoulder, nodded. She fluttered her wings, saying, "It would have been a big help to have another flyer to tackle the Black Knight. His energy beams are no joke, especially when I'm this size. One of them could have crisped me no problem."

The Avengers had gathered in the conference room, around the massive wooden table, an ugly late-Victorian monstrosity with clawed feet that had probably come with the house. Iron Man had ducked in late, after what Steve considered a debriefing and the others clearly thought of as a round-table discussion was nearly over.

Thor was the only one of them who hadn't addressed Iron Man directly yet; instead, he stayed silent and looked thoughtful, as if waiting to pass judgment.

"I-" Iron Man, in his usual place beside Steve, looked down at his gauntleted hands, folded in front of him on the table, his shoulders slumping. "I'm forced to admit I don't have an excuse. I let a personal problem interfere with my duty to the team."

Steve reached over and laid what he hoped was a supportive hand on Iron Man's shoulder. "What's wrong?" The five of them were a team; if Iron Man was in some kind of trouble, well, one of the things a team did was help each other. "If there's anything we can do to help-"

Iron Man pulled away, shrugging Steve's hand off. "There isn't," he said shortly.

Steve pulled his hand back, stung by the other man's brusque tone. He considered Iron Man a friend, had told him things about himself, about his past, about why he wore the costume, that he hadn't shared with anyone else in this time. There weren't many people he'd shared that kind of information with even before he'd been frozen.

Iron Man was happy to listen to Steve go on about his own problems, it seemed, but didn't trust Steve enough to return the favor.

"Maybe you ought to take a few days off to deal with this 'personal problem,'" Steve said, in the same flat tone Iron Man had used. He phrased it as a suggestion, but it was nothing of the sort. A soldier whose head wasn't in the game was a liability, and that went double for superheroes, who might put civilians as risk as well as themselves and their teammates.

Iron Man nodded, still staring at his hands. "You're right. I probably should take some time off to get things under control."

Despite the fact that Iron Man obviously didn't want him to know about them, Steve couldn't help but wonder what those things were. "Would a week be long enough?"

"A week will be more than enough time," Iron Man said. "I'll see the rest of you then." And with that, he stood and left the room, hands clasped behind his back and posture oddly dejected-looking for someone who had as much as admitted that he needed the time off.

There was silence for a long moment after the door had closed behind him. Steve wasn't sure, but he thought Jan was giving him a funny look - it was hard to read her expressions when she was six inches tall.

The silence had just begun to be uncomfortable when it was finally broken by Thor. "An excellent idea, Captain America," he said, as good-naturedly as if Steve hadn't just allowed his personal irritation to goad him into kicking Iron Man out, without so much as asking any of the others. "A brief leave of absence will give our armored comrade time to resolve whatever problem it is that plagues him." He paused, and frowned faintly, adding, "I would that we might help him, but we must not press him to tell us about it, since we have all pledged to respect one another's secret identities."

Steve was fairly sure that that rule had been Iron Man's idea, since he was the only one of them who actually had a secret identity. Thor's commitment to upholding a pledge that had nothing to do with him was yet another sign of how seriously he took his personal code of honor. Steve himself couldn't help but be curious; he'd even been tempted, once or twice, to ask Tony Stark about his employee's identity, but not only would that be going behind Iron Man's back, it would be asking Stark to betray a confidence.

Jan fluttered down from Hank's shoulder, onto the table top, where she began pacing. "How exactly does Iron Man being gone for a week solve the problem of Iron Man not being there to back us up when we need him?" she asked, coming to a stop in front of Steve, her hands on her hips.

Hank shrugged. "He shouldn't let personal problems interfere with his obligations to us and Tony. Being grounded for a week will remind him of that."

This time, Steve could clearly see Jan's exasperated expression, six inches tall or no. "So we're sending him to his room? When did we turn into high school? And anyway," this directly to Hank, "do you really think Tony minds, all things considered?"

"You have to be able to make this," Steve gestured around the room, "your first priority." Wanting to make sure that they all functioned at their best was not immature or petty. He had already lost one partner; he didn't want to lose any of his teammates to mistakes that could have been easily prevented. "Being distracted in a fight is asking for trouble."

"Indeed," Thor said, "it will reduce our numbers by one, but who are we to begrudge Iron Man some time to deal with whatever it is that troubles him?"

Hank nodded. "Don't worry. We took down the Masters of Evil with just the four of us. We'll be able to handle anything that throws itself at us in the next week."

Steve carefully rotated his left shoulder, still bruised where a piece of falling rubble had hit it, and hoped that Hank was right.

***

  
For a long moment after he woke up, Steve could still feel the heat of the explosion. He sat up, swinging his feet over the edge of the bed, toes sinking into the deep pile of the doubtless very expensive carpet. He rested his head in his hands, drawing in a deep, shaky breath.

The worst part was that he couldn't even tell himself it wasn't real. Even slightly distorted through the filter of a dream, all of it had been true. The plane really had blown up. Bucky really was gone.

There was nothing he could do to change things, Steve reminded himself. Dwelling on it too much would make him ready for a section eight. He wasn't at that point yet, but if he let himself just sit around and wallow in guilt…

If he closed his eyes, he could still see Bucky's hand reaching out for him.

Steve stood abruptly. The library was always nice at this time of night, warmly lit and with plenty of books to distract himself with. Stark had shelves and shelves of the classics, not mention countless books written after 1945 that he hadn't even heard of, let alone read.

He'd heard somewhere that some people watched television when they couldn't sleep, but it had only taken him one attempt to realize that there was nothing playing this time of night that he wanted to watch. As far as Steve could tell, the most impressive thing about television seemed to be how many truly bad programs it broadcast.

As soon as he rounded the corner, he could see the light spilling out from under the library door. Iron Man must be- No, Iron Man wouldn't be there, of course; he was dealing with whatever problem it was that he refused to share with them.

Who would be in the library at this time of night?

Steve pushed open the door, curiosity getting the better of good manners, and found Tony Stark sitting in Iron Man's usual chair. He was wearing a crumpled dress shirt and black slacks that had obviously started out as part of a suit, his hair was disheveled, and there was a half-full glass of some kind of amber-colored alcohol at his elbow.

"Couldn't sleep?" Stark asked casually, not looking up from the journal he was reading. The single page Steve could see featured a technical drawing so complicated that he couldn't even begin to figure out what it was supposed to be, especially not from a distance and upside-down.

If it had been Iron Man, whom he'd shared the library with something like half a dozen nights now, and if the Avengers' meeting this afternoon had gone differently, Steve might have admitted to the nightmares, but he still didn't know Tony Stark very well. He funded the Avengers, and had been friendly to Steve the couple of times they had met, but Steve knew little more of him than that. Iron Man didn't talk about his employer much.

Steve shrugged, not answering. "I didn't expect to see you down here at this time of night." He'd been under the impression that Stark lived out near his company's factory complex.

"It's quiet. I don't get much time to myself during the day." Stark cast a glance around the library, giving the heavy wooden bookshelves an almost fond look. "When I was a kid, I used to sneak down here in the middle of the night and read. I still like to spend time here when I get a chance."

Steve walked to the nearest bookshelf, pulling a book out at random. Normally, he would have taken his time selecting one, but he just couldn't make himself at home in Tony Stark's library with Stark sitting right there.

"I think we cost you more in property damage fees today than our salaries are worth," Steve commented wryly, as he sat down.

"Once you've been on the team a little longer, you'll learn that that's what most of the Maria Stark Foundation's funds end up going to." He paused, smirking slightly, and took a sip of his drink. "I try to think of it as funding urban renewal projects."

"I hope it's not usually quite as bad as today."

"I can imagine." Stark's lips twitched. "I saw what the Melter did to my factory floor a few months ago, before old Shellhead put a stop to him."

Steve had never seen Stark and Iron Man together, outside of a couple of news broadcasts, but from the fondness he could hear in Stark's voice, the two of them were obviously closer than he had realized. It made sense, when he thought about it; the Iron Man armor was an incredibly powerful weapon, and Stark wasn't likely to trust just anyone with something like that.

"I don't know if Iron Man's talked to you about earlier," Steve ventured after a moment, feeling awkward at the memory of their near-argument. "The rest of us weren't suspending him as some kind of disciplinary action. His first priority, obviously, is being your bodyguard, and we're not going to try to distract him from that." Actually, he was more worried about Iron Man's mysterious problem distracting him from being an effective Avenger, but he wasn't going to come out and say that to the other man's employer.

"Don't worry," Stark told him, serious now. "One of the reasons I fund the Avengers is because I know how important it is."

According to the newspapers, the only things Tony Stark considered important were expensive business deals and attractive and equally expensive women. On the other hand, the press loved to exaggerate. Some of the things the papers had said about Steve during the war had born only the thinnest connection to reality.

Steve ducked his head, slightly, rubbing at the back of his neck with one hand. "You have no idea how much I appreciate the opportunity to do this," he said. He could feel his face heating slightly under Stark's gaze. "I don't know what I would have done with myself if I hadn't been able to join the Avengers."

Tony shrugged one shoulder. "Those decisions are for the team to make." He drained the remainder of his drink in one long swallow, his head tipped back to expose the long line of his throat, then added, "I just pay the bills."

Not to mention providing a mansion complete with a butler, Steve added silently. He shifted his hand over a little, rubbing at his sore shoulder absently. "We couldn't save the building today, but at least we saved all the people around it. That's what really matters. I wish I'd been able to-" he broke off abruptly. He'd been about to admit to things he wasn't prepared to share. I wish I'd been able to save Bucky.

"I know what you mean." Stark shook his head, a rueful smile visible for an instant under his mustache. "I wish I'd always seen things that way. Then maybe I wouldn't have made so many landmines."

He made it sound as if he'd had a change of heart after an extensive career in the arms business. Steve was fairly certain Stark was around the same age he was, though the expensive suits and the moustache and goatee made him look older. "What made you change your mind?"

"I got to see them in action," Stark said. His hand went to the middle of his chest, in what looked like an unconscious gesture. "I went overseas on a fact-finding investigation that turned into one giant disaster. I only made it out of there alive because someone else sacrificed himself for me. That sort of thing changes the way you look at things." He was silent for a moment, staring down into his empty glass, then added, "Since then, I've just been trying to be worthy of it."

A few weeks ago, just after he'd first woken up in this time, Steve had been sitting in this same spot with Iron Man, discussing why they'd decided to put on their costumes. What Iron Man had said then had been very similar to what Stark was saying now. "I've been very lucky; something happened to me about a year ago. I should have died, but I didn't."

Steve wondered if Iron Man had been on that same fact-finding investigation, if he was the one who had sacrificed himself for Stark. It would explain how he had been injured, and why Stark had spent what had to be considerable time and money designing and building him the armor.

"I know how that feels," Steve admitted. "My partner was on that plane with me. He didn't make it off."

"Iron Man told me that you asked about him when you woke up."

"He must have still been trying to disarm the explosives, and then he got caught on the wing." The plane, an experimental rocket-powered drone, had been packed with dynamite, enough firepower to take out a city block -- or an Allied airfield. And that was without counting the rocket fuel. "I should have made him jump first." The entire operation had been completely unplanned, and things had begun to go wrong right from the start. Planning had been Steve's job, but he'd thrown himself at that plane without a second thought. Even if they had been able to disarm the bombs, they would have no way out; neither of them had had a parachute.

"It gets easier," Stark offered, his eyes serious, intent on Steve's face.

"Really?" Steve couldn't help the hopeful note in his voice.

Stark shook his head, smiling ruefully. "No." He rose, crossing the room to pour himself another glass from the decanter on the sideboard. He held the decanter out in Steve's general direction, the dark amber liquid sloshing against its ornate crystal sides, and raised his eyebrows. "The answer to all life's ills. Can I pour you a drink?"

The heightened resistance to alcohol and other drugs that the supersoldier serum had given him not withstanding, Steve had never been much of a one for seeking answers in the bottom of a glass. "Thanks, but I'll pass."

Stark resumed his seat, and took a sip of his drink. "How are you finding it here? I told the staff to make sure you had whatever you wanted. Is there anything you need?"

Steve shook his head. "I'm fine. I guess I'm just still adjusting. Everything's so different." He paused, trying to think of something else to add, something to lighten the mood. "I still can't believe you have a butler. Are Jarvis's pancakes always that good?"

"I wouldn't know. I'm not really one for breakfast. I usually stick with coffee." He grinned. "He must like you. Jarvis doesn't usually make pancakes three days in a row."

"I'll have to let him know I appreciate it." He'd thanked Jarvis for the food each time, of course, but he'd had no idea it had been especially for him.

There was silence for a moment. Stark looked prepared to return to his technical journal.

Steve stood, stretching, one hand still holding the book he'd borrowed. "I'll leave you to your reading. I ought to try to get back to sleep."

"That ought to help." Stark nodded at the book. "It's one of my father's books on economics."

Steve glanced down at the book in his hand, looking at the title for the first time. It was, in fact, a book on price inflation. He could feel his ears turning red. "Oh," he said. "Um. Well, good night." He retreated back to his bedroom, taking the book with him.

It was, as promised, incredibly boring.

***

Amora had been stranded in Midgard for over a week now, and she had yet to discover why Thor found the place so fascinating. Mortals made for amusing playthings, but toys were only entertaining for so long. Beside, they broke easily.

Little over a week, and already she longed to return to Asgard. Her alliance with Loki had gone undetected for many years, and she had thought herself safe, her true allegiances unknown. But Odin, the treacherous, the twice-blind, had eyes everywhere. She did not know how he had divined her betrayal, but divine it he had, and his punishment had been swift and harsh.

Banished from Asgard, banned from the mead halls of Valhalla, forced to dwell among mortals, forced, for all intents and purposes, to act as a mortal. She who had once been called the Enchantress, Asgard's greatest sorceress, able only to use her powers to influence others.

Whilst she had remained in Valhalla, in full possession of her powers, Amora had not spared more than a passing thought for Loki's fate. His attempt to kills Baldur had been only partially successful, after all, and eternal imprisonment beneath the earth had seemed a fitting price for his failure.

Now, however, it seemed to her that his return could not come swiftly enough. With Loki free once more to resume his efforts to conquer Asgard, the time of her return to her rightful place could not but be near at hand.

Mortals seemed to spend all of their time attempting to feed and clothe themselves, but as she still possessed at least a fragment of her power, acquiring funds and a place to live had proven to be of no difficulty at all. She had also had no difficulty acquiring the information she required in order to begin preparing for Loki's return; in this case, the location of Thor.

Thor was Odin's favorite child, and had been much in his confidences before his own temporary banishment to Midgard. If any in this dreary realm knew of the location of Loki's prison, or a means of breaching it, it would be him.

Amora paused before the door of the mortal place of business where Thor had concealed himself, admiring her reflection in the mirrored glass. Here among mortals, her beauty shone even brighter; her hair seemed more golden, and her eyes, the blue of the sky at midwinter, seemed to hold their color all the more intensely.

Thor had ever ignored her when the two of them were together in Asgard, preferring to consort with Sif, whose playing at being a warrior ought to have made her as unattractive to him as another man would have been. Here in Midgard, there was no Sif. It was possibly the one good thing about the place.

She tossed her hair back over her shoulder, straightened the hem of her green miniskirt, and went inside.

"Do you have an appointment, Ma'am?" the woman seated behind the desk in the entry hall asked, looking up from the screen of one of the silly technological devices that seemed to fascinate mortals so.

"I do indeed," Amora announced. "One that is greatly overdue." She had taken but a step towards the door to Thor's hiding place when the woman spoke again.

"I'm afraid Dr. Blake is with another patient right now. But you can wait out here until he's free."

"You dare to tell me what to do?" Amora turned back to the woman, raising her eyebrows in astonishment. "Silence, woman, until my business here is done," she said, commanding the mortal women's voice to be still with all that remained of her inborn power.

The women moved her mouth frantically, no sound emerging, one hand going to her throat. Amora nodded in satisfaction, and pushed open the door to "Dr. Blake's" office.

It was, indeed, a clever disguise, she conceded. Who would have guessed that the mighty thunder god was concealed inside a form so… unimpressive?

"Dr. Blake" blinked at her, then turned to the man sitting on his examination table and said. "Here's a prescription for a refill of your medication, Mr. Lieber. I'll see you this time next month, all right?"

The man nodded, and got down off the table, walking towards the door. "Thanks, doctor. See you next month."

Amora took a careful step sideways to let him pass, having no desire to endure any unnecessary physical contact with mortals.

As soon as he had exited the room, leaving to door open behind him, "Dr. Blake" turned to Amora. "I don't think we need an audience for this, do you?" he said, and he crossed the little examination room to close the door, walking with a heavy limp.

Odin's cruelty was indeed great. To so lame the mighty Thor…

"You don't seem surprised to see me," she observed, concealing her momentary swell of pity.

"A little bird told me you might be coming," he said, retrieving a large, heavy walking stick from its resting place beside the door.

"Which one of the Allfather's overgrown crows was it?" she asked idly, silently preparing her spell. She only had to place him under her control for a few brief moments. The potion she had waiting in her purse would do the rest.

Instead of answering her, he struck the end of the walking stick against the ground sharply. Thunder reverberated in the distance, and suddenly the crippled mortal physician was gone, replaced by the tall, broad-shouldered form and familiar visage of Thor, the great hammer Mjollnir clutched in one hand.

Even as he raised the hammer, Amora stepped forward, laying a hand on the side of his face and gazing directly into his eyes, settling her spell over him like a net.

Thor froze, suddenly motionless, and Amora quickly retrieved the potion from her purse, raising it to his lips. His power was such that she could only ensnare him for a few moments, so time was of the essence. "Drink," she commanded.

He did so obediently, as she had known he would.

"Now," she said, once Thor had drunk the potion that would hold him under her power, "tell me where lies my lord."

Thor blinked at her. "In Asgard," he said, and even her potion did not prevent him from sounding as if he were speaking to a slow and stupid child. "On his great throne, Hlidskjalf, with wolves at his feet and a raven at either ear."

Amora stomped her foot. "Not Odin, you fool. My true lord, Loki. Where is Loki imprisoned?" It was fortunate that Thor was so attractive, or his company would have rapidly grown tiresome.

"He is safely bound beneath the oceans, where his malice harms no one but himself."

Well over half the surface of Midgard lay "beneath the oceans," and the mortals who lived there defended their territory fiercely. She would have to persuade him to be more specific.

She was the Enchantress. No man could resist her charms, especially not when he was already under her spell.

Amora leaned forward, going up on tiptoe, until her lips were a mere inch away from his. "What else can you tell me?" she breathed.

His eyes were fixed on her, as the spell required, but he showed no signs of being affected by her closeness. "My companions and I searched the place of his imprisonment, and found no signs of his stirring. I know nothing more to tell." His face had taken on a stern, stubborn set that she, and indeed all of Asgard's inhabitants, were all too familiar with. It was the look he had worn just before Odin had decided to send him to dwell in Midgard. It was also a look that meant she would get no more information out of him, magic or no.

Odin must have made him swear an oath not to reveal Loki's location to any of his allies. Blood oaths sworn to the Allfather were not easily broken, even for someone with her powers.

She had expended much of her remaining magic to ensorcell him thus; as long as he remained under her sway, she might as well derive as much use from him as she could.

Amora slipped one hand behind Thor's neck, and pulled his head down until his lips met hers. She kissed him long and deeply, her attentions meeting with no response.

She had dreamed of the day when Thor would take her in his strong, powerful arms and kiss her, and those dreams had not been like this.

Amora pulled away, frowning. No man resisted her. Had Sif, curse her, put him under some spell of her own, or was this the work of the mortals he had sworn his allegiance to?

If she could not command him to have passion for her, she could at least do something about these allies he seemed to have collected, these "Avengers." A foolish name. What did they imagine they were avenging?

She could not make him feel emotions he didn't feel, but while he was under the influence of her potion, she could make him see whatever she willed. She could even make him perceive her as Sif, she supposed, but that would be a hollow victory. She had something much better than that in mind.

Since he felt so strangely compelled to protect mortals, she would give him something to protect them against.

"Your mortal allies have been deceiving you," she breathed into his ear. "Playing you for a fool. They have been using the power of a son of Asgard for their own ends. They are the ones who wish to break Loki free, not I. And with his aid, they plan to overthrow Midgard's human rulers and rule themselves, making the other mortals their slaves."

Thor frowned, shaking his head, and she went on, pouring all the magic she could into her words, compelling him to believe them. "The giant eats human flesh, as his brothers the frost giants do. The man of iron is merely a soul-less tool built by his war-mongering creator. The insect-woman..."

She could see the anger and betrayal in his eyes as he began to believe the truth of her words. The spell would only last a few hours, of course, but by the time he awoke from it, it would be too late. After she sent him out to attack the Avengers, they would all turn against him, those that did not die. The Mighty Thor would find himself alone on Midgard once more, with no allies remaining to assist him when Loki broke free.

Perhaps then, devoid of all companionship, he would see the value in her company rather than rejecting her.

  
***

  
Now that he had the right gauntlet completely disassembled, Tony could see where the problem was; there was a tiny spot of corrosion on one of the wires that connected the repulsor apparatus to his central power battery. It was small enough to have escaped his notice when he'd overhauled it the day before yesterday, but over the past day or so it had begun interfering with the repulsor's response-time. Only by a fraction of a second, but as had been proven in his attempt to take out the explosive devices the so-called "Phantom" had left around his factory, sometimes a fraction of a second could make all the difference.

It had certainly made a difference yesterday, when he'd been attempting to prevent the Phantom from blowing up his factory. He'd been just a moment too slow to de-activate the last bomb, and the resultant explosion had nearly sent two thousand pounds of electric generator crashing onto factory floor. He'd managed to keep it from actually falling, lowering it gently to the floor instead, but the effort had drained his power reserves to the point that he'd barely had enough juice left to catch and unmask the Phantom. By the time he'd handed the man -- a former employee, which only served to add insult to injury -- over to the police, the pain from his damaged heart had been almost overwhelming. Luckily, he'd had his helmet on, so he'd been able to conceal it.

He'd managed to make it back to the private workshop behind his office, but had blacked out before he could connect his chest device to the recharging unit.

He'd woken up an hour later to find all of the blue lights on his chest device glowing brightly once more, and a "missed call" notification blinking on his Avengers communicator.

Happy had been sitting next to him, glaring mournfully at him. Apparently, he had found Tony unconscious on the floor, his armor only partially removed, and had dragged him over to the recharger and plugged him in.

Cap had not been pleased by his failure to his failure to respond to that call, and rightly so. He'd seen footage of the fight on the news later; the Avengers had nearly had their heads handed to them. He had a responsibility to the team just as he did to Stark Industries, and he'd let them down. Worse, let them down because of something as stupid as not maintaining his armor properly.

He'd known better than to overlook corrosion in wiring by the time he was eight. And that was when the things he had been working on didn't have the potential to cost people their lives if he screwed up.

Tony finished detaching the damaged wire, and discarded it, reaching for a new one. The string of accidents the Phantom's sabotage had caused had nearly shut down production on the aircraft systems work SI was doing for the Navy. Since they weren't selling weapons anymore, they needed to keep all of the other military contracts they could hang on to, and they'd been awarded this one over BAE Systems by the skin of their teeth to begin with. And Hammer Industries and Baintronics were circling like vultures, waiting to swoop in and steal the contract from under him at the first sign of weakness.

Thank God for Fury's pet project. Building a mobile base for SHIELD was paying the bills that kept SI's lights on. But they couldn't rely on that as their only source of revenue. Hence Tony being distracted, hence the sloppy maintenance, hence missing an Avengers priority alert through his own stupidity.

Tony set down the tiny pliers and even tinier acetylene welding torch he'd been using and pushed up his goggles, rubbing at his eyes with the back of his wrist; if he'd used his hands, he would only have gotten grease in his eyes.

He hadn't gotten much sleep the past couple of days, first because he was patrolling the factory floor looking for signs of the Phantom's work, and then because he hadn't been able too. He'd ended up in the library, as he usually did these days, with a glass of whisky and the Journal of Microcircuitry, trying to relax, and as occasionally happened, Cap had come in.

Despite the fact that Iron Man had let the Avengers down, Cap had actually tried to cover for him to "Tony Stark," his supposed employer. Tony had wanted to cringe; he'd tried to make sure Cap knew that he took the Avengers seriously, that Iron Man took the Avengers seriously, but he wasn't sure how well that had gotten across. After all, "Tony Stark" was just a rich playboy who paid the bills.

The gauntlet wasn't difficult to re-assemble, but the dozens of tiny pieces that went into the articulated joints required delicate work. Tony pulled his goggles down again, and dialed up the magnification, until all of the fine detail was visible. Ten minutes, and he would have a working set of repulsor gauntlets again.

He shouldn't have told Cap about the landmines, especially not when he was pretty sure he'd already mentioned them as Iron Man. But talking to Cap just felt so natural, and he'd forgotten for a moment that it hadn't really been him having those midnight conversations with Cap in the library for the past couple of weeks - that had been Captain America and Iron Man, not Captain America and Tony Stark.

It hadn't helped that he'd been on his third glass of whisky when Cap had come in. He probably ought to avoid drinking at the Avengers Mansion, Tony decided, at least, until he was more used to having a secret identity.

A small flash of red light in the corner of the workroom caught his eye; he wasn't wearing his Avengers communicator, but he'd left it in plain sight on the far end of one of the workbenches, and hadn't been able to bring himself to turn it off.

The communicator was currently flashing the deep red that meant that someone or something had set off the Mansion's security alarms.

The last time the alarms had gone off, the Mansion had been under attack by a ten-foot-tall, shapeshifting robot.

Tony reached over and turned the workroom's flat, plasma computer screen around so that it was facing him. A few keystrokes got him access to the feeds from the Mansion's security cameras. Motion on the feed from the front gate caught his eyes, and another keystroke pulled that image to the fore of the screen and enlarged it.

Thor was standing on the Mansion's lawn, the front gates a twisted and warped ruin behind him, hammer whirling around his head.

Tony was tightening the final screw on the gauntlet now - he tossed down the tiny hand-held screwdriver he'd been using and reached for the electric one. Those gates were solid wrought iron, two inches thick, and whatever was attacking the Mansion had just totalled the; Thor might need help. He'd promised to take time off from the Avengers, but that didn't mean Iron Man couldn't turn up on his own time to help out Thor.

Except... Thor wasn't fighting the Wrecking Crew or Dr. Doom. He was fighting Giant-Man. And there went the sudden bright flare of one of Jan's stingers. What the-?

Tony shoved the re-assembled gauntlet onto his hand, then reached for his breastplate. Forget taking time off. He'd apologize to Cap later; something was very wrong, and the team needed him.

  
***


	2. Chapter 2

How could he have allowed them to deceive him thus? Now that his eyes had been opened, it was all so very clear.

The Avengers had played him for a fool. He should have known better than to put such trust in mortals he had only just met - after Loki's betrayal, he should have been more on his guard, less blindly trusting.

Loki had been treated as one of them, as much a prince of Asgard as Odin's own blood, and yet he had plotted Baldur's death. Thor had trusted him as a kinsman and comrade, and all the time, he had secretly plotted Asgard's downfall, a serpent in their midst who had sunk his fangs right into his little brother's heart. This betrayal was as nothing to that one.

Why did he find that it cut just as deeply?

He landed before the front gate of the Avengers Mansion with enough force that his boots left a spiderweb of crack in the pavement. Under normal circumstances, he would have exercised more care, but now it mattered not.

He raised his hammer and stepped forward, preparing to knock the heavy iron gates aside as he had the gates of many a frost giant's stronghold. There was a faint whirring of metal gears, and the gates began to open smoothly before him.

Of course, Thor realized, his anger deepening. The Avengers still believed him their unwitting pawn. The gates would be programmed to let him in automatically.

Thor smashed them down before they could swing more than halfway open. The Avengers' overconfidence was a mistake that they were shortly to learn the cost of. The god of thunder was no one's pawn.

"Come forth, you traitorous dogs!" Thor shouted, with enough force to make the windows rattle. "Your villainy shall go unopposed no longer!"

There was a pause, and then the front door opened, and Giant-Man came forth, with the Wasp but a step behind him. They both wore their human guises, concealing their true, monstrous, nature.

"What's going on, Goldilocks?" Giant-Man asked, feigning confusion with a truly diabolical skill. "Are we under attack?"

Thor's lips pulled back into a grim smile. "You are indeed," he said. "You have fooled me well, Giant, but I will play the fool no longer. Before the sun sets on this day, Mankind will be free of your evil."

Giant-Man blinked, still feigning confusion. "Wait, what?"

"Has something happened?" the Wasp stepped forward, around Giant-Man. Her disguise was nearly flawless; even this close, she still looked human. "What do you think we've done? We've been here all day, I swear. I think this is the first time Hank's left the lab since breakfast."

Thor ground his teeth, tapping Mjollnir against his palm once, twice, three times. They knew that he knew, and still they were treating him as if he were no threat. As if he were so blind and stupid that he would accept their excuses and return to being their docile pawn once more. "Silence!" Thor commanded. "I will listen to no more of your lies!" He had had his fill of honey-tongued liars pretending friendship long before he had left Valhalla.

He stepped forward, swinging mighty Mjollnir with all of the force he could muster. It was time to put an end to this.

  
***

  
"Holy hell," Hank shouted, already throwing himself to one side. "Duck!"

Jan did better than duck -- she shrank down, small enough that even Thor would have a hard time landing a blow, and took to the air. Thank god she'd started making point of wearing a costume under her clothes after the incident with the Human Top; the only way this situation could have become more absurd would be if she were forced to fight one of her teammates while naked.

She flew a quick loop around Thor's head, doing her best to distract him while Hank grew. Under normal circumstances, she would have used the opportunity to blast her opponent in the face with her sting, blinding him, but this was Thor. Even if he'd apparently gone crazy, she didn't want to hurt him.

Hank, now at twelve feet, threw a punch at Thor's face, catching him clean across the jaw. Thor didn't so much as blink; he simply grabbed Hank by the wrist and tossed him into the Mansion's wrought iron fence as easily as if he'd been Jan's size.

Hank shook his head once, then grabbed the top of the slightly-warped fence and used it to pull himself to his feet. "All right, Big Guy, you want play rough?" He grew another foot, stepping away from the fence, and Thor drew back his arm to throw his hammer.

Thor's eyes would get better. Hank wouldn't heal from being smashed into a pulp. Jan darted down to hover directly in front of Thor's face and blasted him with both hands.

Thor hissed in pain, flinching back, and brought his free hand up to rub at his eyes. Mjollnir lashed out blindly toward her, and Jan flitted easily out of its path. Success. That ought to buy them at least a few seconds.

"Calm down, gorgeous! It's us! We don't want to hurt you." Or, more accurately, she didn't want him to hurt them.

Hank had to be nearly twenty feet tall now, the largest she'd ever seen him reach. She had to admit, it was impressive, enough that she took a moment out of the fight to simply admire how powerful he looked.

Then Hank swayed, and sagged sideways into the fence, which now barely reached his hip. He went down on one knee, holding onto the metal with one giant hand, head bowed.

"Hank!" Jan flew towards him, abandoning the fight with Thor. He must have been hurt when he hit the fence. He'd hit it with enough force to bend the metal railing, and the wrought iron top had been worked into a long row of what resembled decorative spearheads. If he'd hit those...

"What in the name of God are you people doing?" Cap's face was a study in blank astonishment; he stood frozen in the middle of the open gate, staring at them all as if not sure whether this was serious or some form of prank being played at his expense. He was wearing a long trenchcoat, an artist's portfolio in one hand, and was completely unarmed.

"Cap, look out!" Jan yelled, "something's wrong with Thor. He just went crazy and started attacking us!"

Hank groaned, shaking his head again, and hauled himself to his feet, one hand on the top of the fence for balance. "Next time I try to grow to twenty feet after being tossed around like a human ping-pong ball, someone remind me not to."

Jan felt a rush of relief; Hank wasn't as badly hurt as she'd feared.

Her relief vanished as Thor began spinning his hammer again, working up momentum, and then released it at the top of its arc, hurling it straight at Cap. Cap, who might as well have been empty handed.

Cap dropped to one knee, holding the portfolio up before him in what must have been an instinctive gesture. Jan cringed inwardly, time seeming to freeze. She and Hank were too far away to intervene in time. Mjollnir would tear through the leather case and the art supplies inside it like paper.

Mjollnir struck the portfolio with a resounding clang, rebounding off it into the ground.

Jan blinked. The hammer's impact had torn a large, roughly circular hole in the portfolio, revealing the bright blue and white of the center of Cap's shield.

"All right, Mister," Cap said, bending to grasp Mjollnir's leather-wrapped handle, "I think were going to have to confiscate this until you calm down." He tugged at the handle, with absolutely zero result - it might as well have been glued to the ground.

"No mortal hand may wield the mighty Mjollnir," Thor said, taking a step towards Steve and holding out a hand. Mjollnir leaped from the ground, flying into his hand. Jan had seen it magically return to Thor's grasp dozens of times before, but the sight had never looked so ominous as it did at this moment.

Jan flew at his face, executing several quick loops around his head. She had to distract him, to give Hank and Cap a chance to overpower him.

If they even could. Thor could trade punches with the Hulk. And they'd sent their only other powerhouse away.

"Hold still, wicked little fairy," Thor snarled, making a grab for her that missed by less than an inch. And then Hank grabbed him by the cloak with one giant hand.

"Have you completely lost your mind?" he snapped. "What the hell do you think you're doing, Blondie?" He grabbed Thor's waist with his other hand, started to pick him up, only to drop him with a pained yell as Thor slammed Mjollnir into his right index finger.

Jan winced, hearing bone snap with a dull cracking sound.

Cap's shield, free of the damaged portfolio now, came arcing through the air towards Thor, who blocked it with the haft of his hammer.

The shield rebounded towards Cap, who plucked it out of the air easily. "You're not the only one who can do that trick," he said, with the faintest trace of satisfaction in his voice.

Jan flew at Thor again, her sting catching him on the shoulder, and then Thor's hand closed around her. "I have you now," he said triumphantly, fingers tightening around her. Her arms were pinned to her sides, rendering her sting useless. "If you care at all for your compatriot's life, you will explain your deceit. Now."

"What in hell's gotten into you, Thor?" Iron Man's familiar slightly hollow voice demanded from above them. "Put the lady down."

There was the whining crackle of a repulsor beam, and then Jan was abruptly released and beating her wings frantically to stay airborne. "I told you it was a bad idea to make him stay at home," she said, half-laughing with relief.

Cap shook his head, still looking confused and a little appalled. "Will someone please explain what's going on?"

  
***

  
Everyone was shouting at once, and none of it was making any sense.

"He just went crazy!" Hank waved one over-sized hand at Thor. "Yelling about us tricking him and all kinds of crazy stuff!"

"It is easy to explain," Thor bellowed. "I am no longer taken in by your trickery!"

"Next time I say something's a bad idea, are you going to listen to me?"

"What trickery?" Iron Man had landed directly in front of Thor, and was regarding him with a curious head-tilt. "Who told you we tricked you?"

"Everyone shut up!" Steve shouted, in the voice that he had until recently only used on battlefields. Surprisingly, they all did, even Thor. It was mildly gratifying. "Wasp." He pointed at Jan. "Explain this deceit and trickery is Thor going on about."

Jan shook her head, holding up her hands. "I've got nothing."

Steve blinked. "Oh."

Iron Man took a step closer to Thor; he was standing only a couple of feet away from him now, hands at his sides, as non-threatening as someone who looked like a faceless robot could look. "What trickery?" he repeated. "Why do you think we've deceived you?"

Thor regarded him with the sort of expression one reserved for people who had just asked particularly stupid questions. "Because you have," he snarled. He wasn't brandishing his hammer anymore, though, merely holding it. Steve couldn't blame him for that -- he was still holding his shield.

If this whole thing was some kind of elaborate practical joke the rest of them were staging at his expense, or a training exercise he hadn't been informed of, he was going to make them all very sorry. Combat scenarios were not a game. "You keep saying that," he said to Thor, keeping his voice calm with an effort. "Would you mind explaining exactly what we're supposed to have done."

"You played me false, concealing your true evil behind smiles and lies, pretending to be my brothers in arms while all the while you were plotting the destruction of humanity."

"I, um… what?" Hank shrank back to his usual size, folding his arms across his chest and wincing as the movement jarred his hand. "We were not!"

"He, the cousin of frost giants, hath eaten human flesh." Thor stabbed an accusing finger at Hank. "She, the Insect Queen, lays her eggs in human men, spawning horrors beyond recounting."

Jan laughed incredulously. "None of my dates have ever complained."

"You're not helping," Hank muttered, through gritted teeth. Jan fluttered over to sit daintily on his shoulder, swinging one foot back and forth.

"You know very well what it is that you have done," Thor went on, glaring at Steve. "And that, the thing you call 'Iron Man,' is naught but a soulless automaton built to serve the whims of his warmongering master."

"Soulless… I am not a robot!" Iron Man pulled off his left gauntlet, and held up a bare, very human hand. It was a nice hand, with long fingers. "My boss may be a warmongering man-whore," he went on, voice amused, "but I'm as human as the next guy." He wriggled his fingers for emphasis. "Human. Not robot."

Thor was frowning now, brows drawn together. "You're… not a robot."

"No," Iron Man said.

"Man-whore," Steve repeated slowly. He wondered if it meant what it sounded like it meant. Surely it couldn't. The way Iron Man talked about his boss sometimes… Tony Stark must be awfully familiar with his employees.

"Where on earth did you hear this load of claptrap, son?" he asked Thor, shaking his head.

"I am over two thousand years old. Do not call me son."

"No, I want to know, too." Jan fluttered down from Hank's shoulder, returning to full size as her feet hit the ground. "How did you learn about our, um, supposed betrayal?"

Thor frowned. "I find I cannot entirely recall the circumstances, but it seems to me that it was the Enchantress who told me of it." As Thor spoke, his face cleared, anger leaving to be replaced by a slightly embarrassed puzzlement.

"Who's the Enchantress?" Iron Man asked. He had put his gauntlet back on, and appeared at ease now, his casual stance no longer a pose maintained in an attempt to appear non-threatening.

"An Agardian sorceress," Thor said, his face darkening once more. "She has the power to compel men to do her bidding."

"Ah," Steve said, nodding, as several aspects of the fight he'd just walked in on finally fell into place. He had encountered mind control a few times before, during the war. People could be forced to act completely against their true nature. "She has the power to cloud men's minds?" he asked, thinking of the old radio show.

"And she told you what evil lurked in the hearts of the Avengers," Iron Man extemporized, waving a hand at the rest of the Avengers and matching Steve's reference to the beginning of _The Shadow_ with one of his own.

"She filled my mind with things I know to be untrue," Thor agreed, brows drawing together in renewed anger. "Things I would never have believed without her influence."

"So you attacked us," Hank said, cradling his injured hand against his chest. "Thanks a lot. You broke my hand."

"I am acquainted with a mortal doctor whom I am sure would be most pleased to come and attend to your injuries," Thor said solemnly.

"Let me see that," Jan said, reaching out to take Hank's injured hand in both of hers.

"Ow," Hank yelped; he was starting to look a somewhat green around the gills, his face tense with pain. Steve sympathized; broken fingers were surprisingly painful for a comparatively minor injury. "Careful! I need those fingers."

Jan looked up from Hank's hand. "This one's definitely broken."

"I know," Hank snapped, pulling his hand protectively towards his chest again. "I felt it go crunch. And fingers aren't supposed to be at that angle."

"I am most sorrowful that I have injured you," Thor told him. "And most grateful to all of you for breaking the foul spell that imprisoned me before worse occurred. I owe you all a debt." He turned to Iron Man, adding, "Tell Tony Stark that Asgard will compensate him for the gate."

"Do you have any idea what she wanted?" Steve asked. The idea that there was someone out there who could manipulate Thor this way was more than a little disturbing. She might have simply been trying to get to Thor, the kind of petty personal vendetta that supervillains seemed to thrive on -- the Red Skull had been particularly good at it, during the war -- or this might be part of some larger plot against the Avengers. "Was this some kind of revenge against you?" Steve asked, "Or do you think this Enchantress has some greater plan to attack the Avengers?"

Thor shook his head, the gesture making sunlight glint off his helmet's metal wings. "No, I believe this was an Asgardian matter. She wished to gain from me the location of Loki's prison. When I would not tell her, she became angry, and laid this spell upon me as a punishment." He frowned, fingers tightening around the handle of his hammer. "The next time I encounter her, she will pay for this affront. I shall not leave her an opening to take such advantage of me again." He glanced around the Mansion's lawn, not-quite-wincing at the sight of the demolished gate, and then his gaze came to rest on Iron Man once more. "Iron Man, have you reconsidered your decision to take some time to yourself? Has your problem been dealt with satisfactorily?"

"Not entirely, but I got the security alert that something was wrong here."

"What happened to taking some time off?" Steve asked; it came out sounding like a challenge, which wasn't how he had intended it at all. He had missed Iron Man's presence around the Mansion, missed knowing that the other man would be there to back him up, to back the team up.

Jan shook her head, tossing her hair back from her face. "I, for one, am glad he showed up."

"You mean, because we were getting our asses kicked?" Hank asked. "I really need to practice this growing thing more," he went on, and then broke off, looking even greyer than before. "I think I need to sit down now."

Jan grabbed his arm, tugging him over to the steps and making him sit. "Maybe you should have Thor's doctor friend take a look at you."

Hank nodded, resting his head on his uninjured hand.

Iron Man shrugged. "You looked like you could use some help."

Steve found himself smiling, ridiculously pleased. "If whatever problems you had are dealt with, the rest of us would be happy to have you back." Except… Iron Man had said that they "technically" hadn't been solved. Steve didn't want to push him to come back if he wasn't ready; if nothing else, it could be dangerous. Today, he had shown up when they hadn't expected him, to offer much appreciated help. Next time, he might fail to show up when he was expected, and they had already seen how disastrous that could be.

He felt his smile faltering, and added, "You're sure there's nothing we can do to help?"

"You are our brother in arms," Thor agreed, "and we would be more than glad to provide what aid we can."

Iron Man shook his head. "Thanks, but it's not necessary. It was a technical problem." He hesitated, then said, with what sounded like embarrassment, "I ran out of power."

"Oh," Steve said. He had been picturing all kinds of scenarios, many of them involving the injuries he suspected that the armor might conceal. The equivalent of running out of gas hadn't been one of them.

Hank snorted, head still cradled in his hand. "I can see why you might not have wanted to admit to that."

"Remember the first time you shrunk down, before you designed the ant-man helmet, handsome?" Jan asked, smiling slightly. She was sitting next to Hank now, one hand on his shoulder. "And the ants almost ate you?"

"They were only defending their nest," he said. "I should have anticipated it. Like Iron Man probably should have anticipated running out of power."

"We could always tie a string around your finger," Steve suggested, in the most deadpan tone he could muster. It was a relief to know that Iron Man hadn't been putting some other unknown commitment ahead of the team, that he was as committed as ever to being an Avengers, and that he wasn't ill or injured. A relief to know that his "personal problem" wasn't something serious.

It also made Steve feel a little silly for having come down so hard on him before.

"The repulsors would destroy it," Iron Man countered, holding up one hand and making a show of inspecting it.

"Do not be certain," Thor said. "I could bring you a piece of the ribbon of Gleipnir, forged in Asgard by dwarven smiths and stronger than iron chains."

Iron Man shook his head. "Thanks, but no thanks."

Behind Hank and Jan, the Mansion's front door swung open, and Jarvis emerged. "I trust the commotion over now?" he asked, and then he caught site of the ruined gate. He turned to Iron Man. "What happened to the gate? It was original 19th century ironwork."

The operative word being "was," unfortunately. "I'm sure Mr. Stark can have it fixed as good as new," Steve offered.

"That," Jarvis said, still regarding Iron Man with disapproval, "is not the point."

"Please accept my apologies." Thor actually looked abashed, eyes sliding guiltily from Jarvis to the gate. Then he nodded at Hank. "I will go and fetch Dr. Blake to attend to your hand."

Iron Man regarded Jarvis for a moment, head titled slightly to one side. "You're not actually mad about the gate, are you?"

"Mr. Hogan informed me of what happened at the factory the other day."

"And after the boss swore him to secrecy and everything." Iron Man hesitated for a second, then, "It won't happen again?"

"I hope not," Steve said, struggling to keep a straight face. "We rely on Iron Man to have our backs. We're a better team when we're all working together."

"Certainly better than when we're attacking each other," Hank commented, grimacing as he tried to flex his fingers.

Jan stood, patting him on the shoulder. "All right, talking later. Fixing Hank's hand now."

Thor went to fetch this Dr. Blake of his, and the rest of them went inside. Despite the fact that they had just been attacked by one of their own teammates, and now knew that there was a potentially dangerous supervillain after Thor, Steve found himself feeling surprisingly cheerful.

  
***

  
Thor had really done a number on the gates, Tony reflected, as he surveyed the mess of warped and tortured metal. There wasn't a hope of repairing them; they'd have to be replaced.

He had promised Jarvis that he'd see to it, though, after yesterday's fight had ended.

After everyone had calmed down, Thor had left almost immediately, and only minutes later, a tall, thin blond man with a doctor's bag and a heavy limp had shown up outside the front gates, not so much as raising an eyebrow at the destruction. Thor must have flown to get him there so quickly.

He'd also presented Hank with an absolutely terrifying insect that he claimed came from the realm of the frost giants. Jan, upon seeing it, had shuddered in elaborate disgust and announced that it was the size of a human foot and Hank was absolutely not keeping it in the Van Dyne lab facilities. It was actually the size of a thumb, and given how often Jan rode around on Hank's flying ants, Tony suspected the complaint had been mostly for show. He had apparently already named it, though Tony hadn't heard what said name was yet.

Some people would probably have found that odd, but Tony named his lab equipment, so he understood. It often helped to have something to talk to while you worked.

"It started out as a detective show that he would narrate," Cap was saying, "and by the time I was in high school, it had turned into its own show. I liked it best when he was fighting the evil, psychic warlord." He poked desultorily at the twisted remnants of one of the decorative spikes. "This isn't fixable, is it?"

Tony shook his head, just remembering to make it a broad gesture; Cap wouldn't be able to see his expression through the helmet's faceplate. "Evil warlords with superpowers who think they're descended from Genghis Khan aren't all they're cracked up to be." He would gladly have traded the Mandarin for Shiwan Khan, though. The Shadow always seemed to have a much easier time defeating his arch-nemesis than Tony had had stopping the Mandarin's last attempt to take over and rule all of Asia.

He inspected what was left of the hinges, trying to determine how he was going to remove the gates without damaging the rest of the fence. He was going to have to cut through the bottom-most set of hinges. The top ones… maybe if he straightened out the gate around them, he might be able to un-hinge it without resorting to acetylene cutting tools.

It would be easiest to deal with the top of the gate while the bottom was still attached.

Tony reached out and took hold of the top of the gate with both hands, forcing the metal cross-bar into something approximating a straight line.

"Can I help?" Cap asked. "I feel pretty useless just standing here."

"Not yet. Just keep talking to me. It helps diminish the feeling that Mr. Stark is going to show up and belt me one for messing with his gates."

Cap frowned, leaning one shoulder against the undamaged fence. He had pushed his mask back, and his hair ruffled in a light breeze that Tony couldn't feel. It was always slightly startling to see him without the mask. You forgot, between opportunities to see his face, how classically handsome he was. "Didn't he specifically ask you to clear them away? I thought the two of you were on good terms."

"No, not Tony Stark." Tony threw all of the armor's augmented strength into pulling another metal bar out of the warped curve Thor had bent it into. "His father. Howard. He was in charge of the company until about three years ago. He was… difficult to work for. He was a hard man to please."

"I had a sergeant like that once," Cap offered, pulling a wry face. "I spent almost as much time peeling potatoes as I did fighting Nazis." He shook his head. "I must have been horrible to be in charge of. It didn't help that I knew I actually outranked him when I wasn't undercover, but that's no excuse for how insubordinate I probably was."

Tony listened silently, as he worked the first hinge open, the other hinges squealing in protest as it came loose and the extra weight settled on them. It was nice to have someone to talk to like this.

Cap was unexpectedly easy to talk to. Tony had never been much for casual conversation; he was used to giving directions to employees, and to schmoozing other businessmen or flirting, two things which he had never found to be that different. Sometimes the right kind of smile and a suggestion that you might be available later that evening was enough to get someone to view a deal as favorable. Just talking like this, with no underlying agenda, was new.

It wasn't like this when he was being Tony Stark. Not as easy, save for the middle of the night when he'd forgotten that he wasn't supposed to be Iron Man and stopped guarding his tongue... Iron Man was Cap's comrade in arms, as Thor would have put it; Tony Stark was just the guy who paid the bills.

"This fence must be the original art nouveau iron work," Cap commented after a while, running a hand lightly down one thick, metal bar. "It's going to be hard to find new gates that will harmonize with the rest of it."

Tony had moved on to the second set of hinges. Pulling them loose would take the armor's full strength, and he wouldn't be able to be delicate enough to avoid damaging the surrounding fence. "The boss will make new ones to match the fence. Can you hand me that acetylene torch?"

"He can do that?" Cap blinked, cocking his head slightly; he looked both curious and a little impressed. Or maybe that was just Tony's imagination. It would have been nice to think that Captain America might be impressed by something he could do, but more likely he was just surprised that someone like Tony Stark would take time out of his busy schedule to handle something like a simple repair job.

Tony realized belatedly that that Cap was holding the torch out to him, and took it. "It will be incredibly simplistic work, but I think it's going to be fun. Mr. Stark enjoys that kind of thing," he added, remembering his slip the other night.

It would be nice to have a chance to work with his hands, on something constructive. Since the car crash that had killed his… since his parents had died, he hadn't gotten to spend as much time in R&amp;D or on the factory floor as he would have liked too -- when he wasn't being Iron Man, most of his time was spent running the company, half of it in board meetings with men who still thought he was a nineteen-year-old spoiled brat. Even worse were the ones who remembered him from when he was six, when his father used to bring him in occasionally to parrot facts about electronics in order to make the board feel stupid ("My six year old understands these designs. What is wrong with you people?").

The only thing he really got to play with these days was the armor. There were times when he thought he might have gone crazy with boredom without it.

"Where do you know about the Shadow from?" Cap asked, watching from a safe distance as Tony started to cut through the next hinge. He hadn't even had to warn him to stand back, out of the way of sparks. Some people had to be warned repeatedly, but Cap had just taken one look at what he was doing and stepped back a couple of paces. "I don't suppose it's still on the air?" he added, with a hopeful note in his voice. He paused. "Or is there a television show?"

"No." Tony didn't look up from what he was doing; Jarvis would kill him if he screwed this up. "But they've made a bunch of movies of it. MIT had some in their film library, and a couple of recordings of the old radio show in their music library, too."

"Oh," Cap said, sounding slightly disappointed. "I don't suppose they had The Midnight Racer? That one was even better. He fought crime with the help of an extremely fast car and a chauffeur who knew martial arts."

"I've never heard of that," Tony admitted. Then, because he couldn't help but ask, "What kind of car was it?"

"It was a custom built car. It had a machine gun that popped up out of the trunk, and little knives that came out of the hubcaps to slash other cars' tires."

That sounded… exactly like the kind of thing he would have loved when he was ten. He said as much, and Cap grinned at him.

"I'm glad you're back," Cap said, after Tony had worked in silence for a while, concentrating on cutting the gate, now off its hinges, into manageable pieces that could be carried away. "I'm sorry I lost my temper at you before."

"Don't be. There was no excuse for missing an alert like that." It had been unforgivably stupid of him not to be prepared, to have missed the corroded wires in his gauntlets, to have expended so much power in the fight with the saboteur that he'd had nothing left when the Avengers needed him. After all, what good was he, if he couldn't be effective either as Iron Man or as an Avenger? "I'm just glad I showed up in time this time, before Thor had a chance to smash anything else Mr. Stark would have had to fix."

"It wasn't his fault," Cap objected mildly. "Being controlled and manipulated like that must be pretty unpleasant."

Tony shuddered, glad the armor hid the evidence of just how much the idea creeped him out. "I don't know what I would do if it had been me," he said. "The armor could have caused a lot of damage."

"Asgardian family life must be interesting," Cap said. If it was a deliberate attempt to change the subject, Tony was grateful for it.

He grinned at Cap, though he knew Cap couldn't see it. The other man was still leaning against the gate, his eyes looking very blue as he grinned back. "And you haven't even heard him really go on about Loki yet," Tony said. "Let's just say that there's not going to be any mistletoe at this years' holiday party."

It was August now and Christmas was months away, but Tony suddenly found himself looking forward to it for the first time in a very long while. He had been joking about the idea of an Avengers' holiday party, but as soon as he mentioned it, he found himself wondering what it would be like to have a party over the holidays that wasn't an SI office function, a business event, or some dreadful society affair that was only bearable if you had plenty of alcohol at hand and someone attractive on your arm to distract you from all the people trying to make small talk.

"You guys have holiday parties? Last Christmas I was in northern France with an Allied tank battalion. It was just me and-" he broke off, smile faltering for a moment, then went on, "Spending it with the team sounds nice."

"Oh definitely. Mr. Stark's all about parties," Tony told Cap. "He wouldn't have it any other way." If he was lucky, he'd be able to get away from Tony Stark's social obligations long enough to attend as Iron Man. It wouldn't be hard to convince the others; Jan would jump on the idea as soon as he promised to let her do the decorating, Hank always did what Jan told him to, and Thor seemed like the kind of guy who would enjoy a party even if he didn't celebrate the particular holiday it was being held for. "As a matter of fact, we're having a Thanksgiving party, too."

Cap smiled at him, and Tony felt a ridiculous surge of pleasure all out of proportion with the reaction. "I'll look forward to it."

***


End file.
